“Take care doctor,” I sang out, for I had seen the flashings of the enemy’s guns.
“Light bobs,” said the jeering doctor; when away flew the upper part of his hat, and down he dropped on the deck, on that part which nature seems to have purposely padded in order to make the fall of man easy.
“No light bob, however,” said I.
The doctor arose, rubbing with an assiduity that strongly reminded me of my old schoolmaster, Mr Root.
“To your station, doctor,” said the captain, harshly.
“Spoilt a good hat in trying to make a bad joke;” and he shuffled himself below.
“Your gig, Captain Reud, cut all to shivers,” said a petty officer.
This was the unkindest cut of all. As we were approaching Barbados, the captain had caused his very handsome gig to be hoisted in from over the stern, placed on the thwarts of the launch, and it had been in that position only the day before, very elaborately painted. The irritated commander seized hold of the lanyard of one of the eighteen pounders, exclaiming, at the same time, “Mr Burn, when you have got your sight, fire!”
The two pieces of artillery simultaneously roared out their thunders, the smoke was driven aft immediately, and down toppled the three topmasts of the corvette. The falling of those masts was a beautiful sight. They did not rush down impetuously, but stooped themselves gradually and gracefully, with all their clouds of canvas. A swan in mid air, with her drooping wings broken by a shot, slowly descending, might give you some idea of the view. But after the descent of the multitudinous sails, the beauty was wholly destroyed. Where before there careered gallantly and triumphantly before the gale a noble ship, now nothing but a wreck appeared painfully to trail along laboriously its tattered and degraded ruins.
“What do you think of that shot, Mr Farmer?” said the little captain, all exultation. “Pray, Mr Rattlin, where did Mr Burn’s shot fall?”